


Seeds of Passion

by Doctorinblue



Series: Why Am I Like This? [2]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Desk Sex, I'm so sorry, LITERALLY, Listen people he does his desk, Other, Sexual Humor, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 21:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14627484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctorinblue/pseuds/Doctorinblue
Summary: There is nothing I can say here. Desk sex. Henry does his desk.





	Seeds of Passion

The desk fits so nicely in his office as if it were made for this spot, made with only Henry in mind. He strokes his fingers over it again. He'll wear a spot onto the surface if he doesn't watch himself. It's so smooth though, and comforting - like a slice of home fell into his lap in Korea. The desk is so beautiful. He might be in love. He is, without a doubt, in lust.

He stands, shuffles around her, and peeks out the office window. It's late because he knows how prone people are to bursting in during the day. But just past midnight, while the rain pours outside, is Henry's special time.

The light is off in Radar's room and he can just make out his body on the cot, that bear wrapped up tightly in his arms. Hey, who is he to judge where someone finds comfort? War is a special version of hell and you learn to take joy where you can.

Speaking of which....

He returns to the desk, trails its fingers along the edge.

"You're beautiful," he whispers as a resident in the downtown area starts to stir for the evening. 

Night shift. 

The material above his slammer hammer grows tight. Everything is stiff, like the desk before him. He settles on the opposite side, opens the drawer gently. All good things are worth doing slowly. He pushes his fingers into the drawer, dips them in and pulls them out, running them along the perfectly sanded inside. A work of a art. Like love. Like a sunrise. He continues to move his fingers, a slow and comfortable rhythm, a hum escaping his lips. He can appreciate the finer things in life. And he loves to learn the corners and edges of something, discover it inside out. There isn't enough time for that in Korea.

He pushes his fingers in farther, then pulls them all the way out. He'll have to be quiet of course. Radar has seen so much already, and while he prides himself on taking the little guy under his wing, some things a man likes to do alone. He fumbles with his belt, the sweat from his excited fingertips slipping off the latch. He smacks himself right in the old cured salami and winces quietly. 

Not a good start. He can't show up in the Swamp with another injury. Not after the hat. He'll never live it down. 

He rips his zipper, his fish flopping out into the cooler air. He'll have to sew the material later, but that doesn't matter now. The desk is here, so real and solid before him. He misses home like he misses clean air, but this will save him for a few minutes. He rubs his morning log against the top, leaving his own polish behind. 

_Yes._

He spits into his hand ('cause again, that qualifies as lube) and slides his fishing pole into the drawer slowly. Maybe he'll catch a big one. He closes it gently on his throbbing war stick. His whole body hums, throbs in time with his heart. He pushes into the drawer, pulls out slowly. The stiffness on both sides increases the throbbing, almost makes him cry out in relief. But Radar... He bites his lip, and he's melting, all over his desk. He's on fire and freezing at the same time. This is better than his hat, so much better with that mud pile he spent an evening with.

He moves faster, and faster, and the wood is actually a little rough but that's okay. He never gets to do things like this back in the States. Well, once at the office, but he'd had to answer a call before he reached the promised land. 

He pushes faster still. Something pinches and stings, but he's too lost in the moment. His batter shooter is ready to plant his seed into the drawer. The desk doesn't wobble when he slaps his hands down onto it, breathes out as he explodes like a firecracker, only in a sexy way. He leans back, wipes the drawer clean and then inspects his penis pop. 

It's red and angry and there is something foreign poking out of the skin. Damn. Not again. 

He pushes at it, tries to force it out, but the skin is actually quite sensitive now. He pokes at the end and then slowly pushes his dangerous dingo back into its pant cage and waddles from the room.  
Radar sits up. 

"Sir?"

"Go back to sleep, Radar," he whispers, spreading his legs wider and continuing his slow trek towards the Swamp. 

"The desk, sir?" Radar asks, already pushing his glasses onto his face and pulling on his boots. "I'll get Hawkeye and Trapper."

Henry lets out a breath, changes direction. He slides into a side room, manages to pull down supplies when the tired and amused pair arrive. 

"What is it this time?" Hawkeye asks, washing his hands. 

Trapper is grinning and Henry hates them but he knows they won't give away his greatest secret. He drops his pants and endures their laughter, his mind already on the other drawers. He has to break it in properly.


End file.
